Secrets
by Katrina Marie Lupin
Summary: He never talked about her. Whoever she was. All Narcissa knew was what she could guess, and if there was one thing Severus Snape was very good at, it was a matter of keeping secret things he didn't want to share.


So first, a few things. One, YES, this is Deathly Hallows and Half-Blood Prince acceptable. Granted, most things involving Narcissa Malfoy are mostly head-canon, but I'll go into that after the story. I'll say now, though, that I'm one of those of the opinion that Snape is rather involved with the Malfoy family. To what extent depends on how the muse is feeling – you've seen me write Black Potions fanfic (which is Sev/Bella) but come second war, she really isn't too hot on him. In fact, she thinks he's a traitor, and really despises the bastard. Part of that is that he's become a fat, dumb and happy Potions professor while she had to rot in Azkaban, and that she's absolutely barmy, so there's plenty of room to see where she's coming from. I personally believe that Snape would keep tabs on Malfoy on Dumbledore's behalf, but the whole... being Head of Slytherin House thing means he's got his fingers in a lot of pots as far as Wizarding Society. At the very least he's friendly with the Malfoys, but I imagine he knows them better than that. Lucius and Severus seem to be old friends (and more than just fellow Death Eaters) and Draco seems to be a favourite even among Slytherins. I imagine Snape is at best a Godfather to Draco (and in a way, he IS, by DH) and if nothing else, at least a family friend. And imagining how Victorian the Wizarding World is... I would not put it past neither Snape or Narcissa to be doing something on the side. She's married, so he doesn't have to worry about her wanting commitment from him, and as an expendable spy, he likes having a relationship without strings. I believe Cissy at least guessed (and it was a very good, strong guess) that he was working for Dumbledore at LEAST by DH, if not knowing for absolutely certain before hand. I'd even wager she knew about it after the first war. Almost. Or maybe strongly suspected. As such, I think she'd be the kind to ask questions, even if she knows she won't get answers. Slytherins. They're weird. (/speaking from experience)

xxxx

Narcissa's eyes watched as the fire danced, crackling quietly as the flickering light painted the room in shades of orange and husky pumpkin. Emerald wall décor seemed dingy and dark under the minimal lighting, but the silver shone like white gold.

Behind her, a body moved, stirring from his light sleep and moving behind her, long, strong arms gently wrapping around her, gentle, sure fingers tracing across her skin as they moved the silvering hair from her neck. She leaned her head to the side as her lover blessed her with soft kisses, trailing to behind an ear, quiet, as if trying not to be heard.

She closed her eyes. Yes, Severus was a fine lover. A rare one, but that made their nights together that much more to be savoured. His long, nimble fingers were so carefully controlled, from years of potion-making and writing and spell-casting. Her husband's were a bit fat and soft from limited use – most of his power came from his status and name, while Snape had to make a name for himself, carefully making sure not to call on the generations past lest they point out his family's transgressions. He was a gifted potion-maker, even, and a terribly powerful wizard in his own right. That power and skill attracted the attention of many, and yet he was a very hard man to catch.

She murmured lightly as his teeth tested the flesh of her ear. Her eyes opened, and returned to the fire. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and lifted a hand to his face.

He kissed it, gently, one hand traveling up her hip, across her belly, to cradle a breast in his palm. The other caressed her face, as he continued blessing her skin with soft kisses.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The question was a gentle one, and one she'd asked many times.

As was his usual, his hands stopped – the fingers clawing slightly. There was the sharp sound of a 'huff' – or whatever sound it was Severus Snape made instead – and puff of breath before he deliberately kissed her neck again, before speaking against her skin.

"No, I don't," he answered, a bit of annoyance in his voice. Kiss. Kiss. "I never do." Another kiss, this time just below her ear, in that crook behind her jaw. "Why do you insist on asking?"

She smiled in the darkness. "Glutton for punishment?"

He growled at the mischief in her voice. "Damn you, woman."

He gave a sigh, and wrapped his arms around her, ceasing the caressings to merely rest his chin on her shoulder. He, too, looked at the fire.

She gave another soft murmur, and raised a hand to his face. She didn't look, but she touched the taut skin as it stretched over his cheeks, the strong jaw. Her fingers slid carefully to his lips – down-turned in a pursed frown. She smiled greater, then, her eyes twinkling, not unlike his master.

"Oh, now I've upset you," she said, chiding herself. She turned in his arms to face him then, her grin turning into the warmth of a mother. "My dear Severus, I sincerely apologise." It was too kind to be called 'mocking'. "Whatever shall my punishment be?"

He growled again. "I could think of a few things." The thought of course spurned a few, and his lips curled in a devilish grin.

She shook her shoulders. "Oh, dear me. Whatever horrible things will I have to endure for being such a naughty girl?" She blinked her eyes, raising a finger to her lips in an 'o' of poorly feigned innocence.

His arms pulled her against him and he growled in her ear, this time out of lust. "You'll be the death of me, you saucy minx."

She giggled as he dragged her against him, and the two of them lay in the dark. Crimson sheets shifted around them as he continued his attentions, his hands and mouth wandering over her body. She smiled, murmuring fondly as he let out his collected frustrations over her flesh. Lips and fingertips gave way to teeth and claws. She gave approving noises as his affections got rougher, but she didn't fight him one bit.

He finally tossed her to her back again, sliding on top of her and again taking to her neck with teeth. She gave light gasps as her own hands travelled down his back, and bit her bottom lip as she let out a sigh of a moan.

"You've been a very bad girl," he whispered in her ear, the growl and hiss that had terrified tons of ickle firsties for years and years turned lustful. "I say we tie you up and leave you here for your husband to find."

She let out a whimper. "Oh, but you know how he is... he gets upset because he wasn't here to watch... and he expects you to share. He's no manner of fun at all."

A dark sound that should have been a chuckle sounds, and it sends a shiver down her spine. "Indeed... I shall have to give you... _detention _myself, then..."

She gave a squeal, then, and endured another round of Severus Snape's passionate, sadistic ravishings.

A fine lover, indeed.

When they settled once more, she gave a warm sigh, a grin on her face, and the hormones and energy and magick flowing through her veins a rush that hadn't left for some time now. She let out a breath, one hand over her head, which rested on a pillow, as the Potions Master of Hogwarts, feared Death Eater and really mean guy, snuggled against her shoulder.

If he'd been a cat, he would have been purring, she was sure of it.

She amused herself with the thought, and couldn't help the small laugh shaking her chest, even as she managed to keep it behind her lips.

In the darkness, she could just make out the sillhouette of his face rising to look at her.

"And just what is so funny?" His voice was chiding, but a little shy.

She beamed even more, then. The metaphor followed well – unlike a dog, which was dedicated to a master as was chosen for them, a cat chose their own master. It was hard to win the dedication of a cat, but once you did, it was for life. The problem was, cats also had their own issues with pride... even as they tried to deny it, they were just as likely to pine away if their master didn't return to them. Even if they said it was only because they couldn't open the tuna on their own.

"You," she answered, the smile not fading as he predictably flinched. "I had the funniest image of you as a little black cat."

Even in the dim light, she imagined she could see him raise that eyebrow, like he so often did. She giggled again.

"Me, as black cat?" His voice seemed amused as well, but also rather exasperated. "Of all things. A cat? Really?"

She murmured. "More that you are practically purring right now. The cat image followed after, but it was so funny, I couldn't contain myself." Her hand rose from its position and twirled on her wrist. His eyes watched it – hehe, it followed too well! – and then moved back to her face.

He made a sound as if to consider it. "Unfortunately... between Mrs. Filch and McGoogles, there are already too many cats on staff. Not to mention the ones that the students bring in. I swear, they give the owls a run for their money rodent-wise..."

Her smile softened, a sadder version. There he was, rambling on about the school. It depressed her, if she was honest, how small his life was. Potions and classes, the occasional Walpurgis meeting (she still thought of it as 'the Knights of Walpurgis' even if for no other reason than she liked the name better) or Muggle hunt to stir up some fun when things got particularly dry or boring. She pitied him, in a way – that a man with so brilliant a mind frittered it away on the inane in-and-outs of life. Professorial life, even. A man like that should be on the front line, slaying dragons and winning damsels and being a grand and glorious hero...

...but instead he knelt before madmen, stirred his cauldrons, berated the dunderheads that wandered in and out of Hogwarts year after year, and occasionally performed a bit of torture or extortion. The last, quite honestly, wasn't even something he enjoyed anymore. Too much blood spilt too close to home, and he'd somehow found a conscience. Narcissa kind of envied him in that respect – having a conscience. She imagined it would make life a bit meddlesome, but she wondered what it would be like.

"Severus, can I ask you a question?"

It was in the same tone as before, and he responded the same way.

His hands stopped their touchings, and instead he propped himself up on a side, one fist holding up his head, while the other hand rested on the bare of her stomach. His eyes glittered like black gems in the dark, and it was a terribly poetic, and slightly terrifying sight.

"I already said," he said with forced patience. "I don't want to talk about _her_."

He did half of a stand down, but she merely blinked back at him. Completely unintimidated.

She let him stew in this fashion for a moment before smiling again. "That wasn't what I was going to ask you."

She beamed as he shuffled his features, his body posture hiding any embarrassment he might have subconsciously let out. "Very well," he said. "What did you want to ask?"

She pondered how best to phrase the question. As she did, she rested her head on the pillow, and looked up at the ceiling. The was a criss-crossing of latticework that showed the inky black sky of the night beyond. Little white sparkles of stars decorated the blanket in a rather magickal way.

"When was it that you finally turned?"

He didn't stiffen, not quite. But it seemed like she had certainly caught him off-guard. It was like watching a snake uncoil, when you hadn't realised they'd been half-wound in themselves the entire time.

"How do you mean?" There was a guarded quality to his voice that made her smile again – that sad one.

"You know what I mean," she said. "It's related, isn't it? You. Her. The War."

She still wasn't sure who 'she' was, but she knew that whoever the woman was, Severus had loved her very, very much. Obviously, he hadn't been able to tell the girl this, or else she'd have been his – if there was one thing Severus could do, it was love. It was a dark, bitey, dangerous kind of love, but the fury and rage and passion that made him a terrifying Death Eater made him just as zealous and faithful a believer and as exhilarating a lover. Any girl who could pass that up clearly hadn't truly gotten a taste for him, or she'd be just as irreversibly hooked as Narcissa was, and whatever other lucky girls were out there that had the fortune of knowing Severus Snape. In the Biblical sense. She wasn't quite so pretentious as to think she was the only woman that he had to indulge in when he had the mind to.

She could see it in his eyes, then. They shut off, becoming dull, dark. She pursed her lips slightly, glaring lightly at him. It was hard to be mad at the man who had just made love to you – albeit in a fashion that was going to leave scars for at least a few days – but he managed to make her that annoyed at him.

"I've said. I don't want to talk about it." His voice was quiet. Pained.

Severus Snape never talked about _her_. Whoever _she_ was. All Narcissa knew was what she could guess, and if there was one thing Severus Snape was very good at, it was a matter of keeping secret things he didn't want to share.

She held out a hand, and touched his face. His eyes looked back at her, empty, like dark pools. She smiled reassuringly. "Hey. I'm sorry."

His face was an expressionless mask.

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, her lips soft, and she nuzzled her face against his, letting her eyelashes tickle against his skin. _He loved it when she did that_. She kissed, to his ear, and tugged gently with her teeth.

He gave a soft sigh, and the hand that had been on her waist trailed to her hip, gently sliding up her side, and along her back.

"Come to bed," she said softly, holding his face in her hands and bringing him back down with her.

"We're already _in_ bed," he said, a slight amount of annoyance returning to his voice, though it still sounded tired and weary.

"I know, but still," she teased, smiling. She kissed him, and his lips kissed back, tentative, and then sure.

Yes, if there was one thing Severus Snape was good at, it was keeping secrets. And Narcissa could wait until he was ready to share them.

xxxx

So, what did you think? Kinda steamy, right? Now, I have the very obvious "SHE is Lily" thing, and Narcissa has made it clear she knows about him being a turncoat, but doesn't seem to be bothered by it – in fact, it kind of interests her, and being the crafty Slytherin she is, she wants to have the option of having her family turn to be open to her if need be – and is actually kind of curious. She tries to pester him a little here and there to get him to talk, and some nights he's forthcoming. His reactions tend to tell her a lot more than his words. And yes, Lucius either knows and doesn't care, or doesn't know about this relationship, but it's not a big deal. I kind of think Lucius suspects, but doesn't really care – I imagine it's a commonplace thing in a culture like that. Just saying. And Snape has proven himself to be a sadistic bastard, so I imagine he would... well, be a sadistic lover, as well. Cissy enjoys the change, I am sure. Commence with the flames. :D YOUR RAGE FUELS MY DARKEST FANFICS... As if that were true. "Fortitude" needs an update.


End file.
